Stars and Marrow


Mother, it's raining little stones
like dark gray caramels, like
dropping playing dice. There is this
and that soul, but not the one
you gave me. I was whisked
into the midnight of my making,
like a cake for a whoring queen,
a bloody Aceldama. At last
the boxes of the world's final zoo
are finally quiet. No more rhyming
apes, no how's and why's of herring
hearing, just the agonizing dial
of the diatonic sloth. I turned
my back on you and died like a duck
in the open, a pile of yesterday's
nobody's child. Strapped to my high
iron chair, the waves that lunged
at me were carnal, but no, I didn't
mind. There is so much good
in the worst of us, so much bad
in the best. I found succor in the devil
when the angels cooked my head.